


The Heart of the Deal

by brightwhiteparabolas



Series: Alfred Pennyworth's Bookmarks (All Rights Reserved by the T. and M. Wayne Foundation) [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Cute Kids, Daily Planet, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Flying, Gen, Interviews, Manipulation, No Smut, Superpowers, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-27 05:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightwhiteparabolas/pseuds/brightwhiteparabolas
Summary: Bruce Wayne has written the definitive book on ethical investing.  Is he willing to talk about it?  No.  But Jon Kent does not understand the meaning of that word, and decides to write a letter to Mr. Wayne with a helpful suggestion.





	The Heart of the Deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mystik_Owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystik_Owl/gifts).

> Here are a few warnings so that you can all run away in time.
> 
> 1\. This is not a Bruce-is-a-great-Dad story. (But neither is it a Bruce-is-a-terrible-Dad story.)
> 
> 2\. Bruce is something of an old-money snob here.
> 
> 3\. Selina Kyle is in the process of becoming a rather capable writer, to Bruce's horror.
> 
> 4\. Lois is bitter.
> 
> 5\. There is an illegal weapon in Wayne Manor.
> 
> 5\. Underage children are exposed to alcohol. (They do not drink it.)
> 
> 6\. Everyone tries to take advantage of Jon.

**1**

The bell rang at the West-Reeve Academy, and class was dismissed.Jon was almost certain where Damian would be waiting, and sure enough, his friend’s stern little figure was standing, very upright, next to one of the tall Doric columns that framed the steps leading out of the Academy.His leather book bag was on the ground beside him.

“Can you give this to your dad when we get to the house?” Jon asked. 

He thrust a smudged, sealed white envelope in Damian’s direction.It said on it, in carefully hand-printed letters:

F O R:B r u c eW a y n e

Damian’s eyes narrowed.He was permanently suspicious, especially of things that were supposed to be delivered to his father.The envelope could contain sub-atomic traces of a fear gas variant or an undetectable time-bender that would fling Bruce into another dimension.It could even be some kind of birthday party invitation. As son to one of America’s wealthiest men, especially one who had a secret life as a superhero, Damian’s trials and responsibilities were endless.

“It’s only a letter. From me.”

“How very unilluminating. I need you to tell me more.”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Why?”

“It’s kind of personal.”

“Then I can’t help.”

Damian waved the envelope up and down above a large pile of leaves on the Academy lawn.Then he grinned and let it drop.Jon jumped for it with a yelp.He was not allowed to use any of his powers outside the Kent house, a fact which Damian exploited mercilessly.

**2**

Jon never had any problem hearing what his parents were saying.That was one of the many advantages and miseries that came with super-hearing.He had climbed back into the house through the window, hopping over his father’s tool-shed, something he did regularly when he returned to bed after one of his night-time excursions with Damian.Even with the door of his bedroom shut, his father’s voice carried clearly to him.

“I am not going to ask Bruce to give me an exclusive,” said Clark.He was sitting at the family’s kitchen table, shirt sleeves still rolled up above his elbows.He enjoyed washing the dishes, and did them most evenings.“Lois, I don’t even do those kinds of interviews.”

“You’re reacting as if I asked you to proposition the man.It’s not disgusting. It’s a practical professional suggestion.You ask him.He says yes or no.That’s all there is to it.”

“Then you ask.You do the interview.Extended think-pieces are more up your street anyway.”

Jon’s mother laughed, and continued to clatter around the sink.“C’mon, you know he hates me.Even more since I got Selina that internship with the social pages.What’s that stupid book of his called again?”

“The Heart of the Deal.” Clark sighed. “And it’s not stupid.It’s pretty darn good.”

“Damn well should be good, considering he can afford the best ghostwriters in the business.I just wonder if there’s a single idea in there that’s really his.”She thrust a large frying pan into the rack over the microwave, and Clark watched it shudder into stillness.

“Don’t be so bitter, Lois.Look. We can live without a new roof before winter.A patch-up job will get us through.And I can probably pick up a few more jobs with Gotham Online.If you don’t want to give up journalism and take a job in PR, I don’t want you to either, okay?There’s enough pressure on you already as the main earner.”

Lois sighed.“If only superpowers could get you a full-time contract.”

“Not going to happen,” said the freelance journalist otherwise known as Superman.

**3**

_Dear Mr Wayne,_

_I know that my father wants to write an interview of you and your new book for the Daily Planet.But he does not want to ask you, because you are his friend, and so my parents are arguing.Do you think you can please ask him to interview you yourself?Then everyone will be happy. _

_Also my mother says there is something called sindication writes for interviews, which means other newspapers and TV channels can use the interview if they pay.I hope that this will be fine for you because it is perfect for my father.My father has a freelans contract now like a lot of the people who work for the Planet but I am not supposed to know this because they do not want me to be worried._

_Sorry to bother you. But I thought about this a lot and decided it was the right idea and I should ask you._

_Thank you for your consideration,_

_Jonathan Lane Kent_

Damian snickered, and Jon’s face turned bright red.

“I knew I shouldn’t have shown it to you,” he said.,

“I’m only laughing at your diction,” said Damian, “Not that you know what that means. The letter is perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Really?” Jon brightened.

“Really. Father will love it. Why don’t you give it to him yourself?”

“I’m too embarrassed.”

“Well, you’re going to have to do something for me if you want my help.”

  
**4**

The diamond-blade Demon Star was pretty much where Damian had said it would be.Jon could see at once why his friend had never told his father about the tiny weapon that had arrived via courier from Tunisia on his birthday.It looked every bit as lethal as Damian had told him it was.

Hovering about eighty feet above the Wayne Manor tennis courts, his hands wrapped in a thick bath sheet from Damian’s bedroom - it was critical not to let the Demon Star touch his bare skin, Damian had reminded him several times - Jon disentangled the shuriken with great care from the twigs and leaves that were holding it trapped it in place.When he was sure it had been freed, he wrapped it in the bath sheet and flew down to Damian, who was waiting for him at the tree’s foot. 

Jon always enjoyed flying, but he was not happy this time.

“Dad would be furious,” he said. His face was woebegone.

“You’re doing this to help him, and imagine what would happen if Bat Cat climbed that tree.Or how much trouble I would be in if Father found out I had thrown it up there.”

Jon shut his eyes and winced.

.

**5**

“A high-profile, syndicated interview is an excellent idea,” said Alfred.He almost always approved of anything that Selina came up with.

Bruce groaned.

“I have to question your loyalty to Wayne family values, Alfred,” he said.“I doubt my father would have invited the press in to ask him questions about his medical publications.”

“The times have changed, Master Bruce.I think your father would have seen that.Besides - “ he coughed gently - “a highly readable chapter-book on investment strategy is quite a different proposition to your father’s research papers.”

“I keep telling him he needs good PR,” said Selina.She was sitting on the edge of Bruce’s desk studying the many buckles of her high-heeled patent leather shoes, which were a dusky purple. One of the things she loved about interning at the Daily Planet was the complete lack of a dress code in her particular department. “I mean, for goodness’ sake, Bruce. You’re Bruce Wayne.”

“Exactly. Public relations are for arrivistes and mafia bosses.”

“The fact that you can even think of saying that shows exactly how much you need communications support.Bane has a huge PR machine.If you don’t provide some distraction, he’ll be Mayor of Gotham before you know it.”

“Selina, those people at the Daily Planet have you brainwashed.”

“I love them, and I’m going to be the best gossip columnist in the world.Meow.” She leaned over the desk to kiss him on the nose, and he groaned again.“Wait, there’s someone knocking on the door. It’s probably Damian.”

“Not Damian. Please not Damian.Not now.”

“Sweetheart, if I can keep Damian away from you for at least an hour, would you at least consider doing an interview? Faye Merriman, perhaps? Or Rand O’Donnell?”

“Maybe,” said Bruce.“Or maybe not.”The expression on his face was ominous.

**6**

“Selina,” hissed Damian.“I _need_ to see my father.”

Ms. Selina Kyle smiled sweetly and crossed one beautiful black-clad leg behind the other, looking very much like a cat dressed in McQueen.

“He’s _very_ busy,” she said. “You can talk to me instead.I’m just as good.”

“No you’re not,” said Damian.“You didn’t write his book.”

Selina raised immaculate black eyebrows.

“I did in fact help draft several chapters of it.”

Damian made one of his signature scoffing sounds.

“Do you even know how to spell ethical investing?”

Selina laughed, not insulted at all.She and Damian had traded verbal blows before, and she was not interested in playing stepmother to him.She and Talia had held that conversation a while ago, and very frank it had been too.

“Honestly, Dami.What’s up? Can’t it wait? Your father really is very busy with Alfred.They’re working on the Foundation's Five Year Plan right now.”

“I need to ask him something important about the book.It’s not for me, it’s for Jon.”

Selina noticed Jon Kent peering around the bannister rail, blue eyes bright and anxious. The kid looks like he’s been up a tree and dragged through a bush backwards, she thought. Boys.

“For Jon?” she asked.It would be unlike Damian to do anything altruistic.

“For Jon.”

“Hello, Selina,” said Jon, and she smiled back at him.

It had taken several months for her to persuade him to call her by first name.He was so well brought up and such a naturally sweet, deferential kid that calling any adult by their first name seemed like heresy to him. 

In fact, Jon was such a good kid, she thought, that she had yet to see him do any of the things that Damian claimed he could do.Given his status as a minor, he had told her, he was forbidden to perform any super-powered “tricks” unless by the express permission of a Justice League member.He was only allowed to fly, move heavy objects, and use other powers such as freeze breath and heat vision inside the Kent’s house.His mom was even worried about the garden, where the Millers could see him if they were looking out of their rear windows.

(“It’s bullshit,” Bruce had said to Selina once, when he was especially frustrated with Jon’s father.“Clark and Lois totally made up that Justice League rule.They’re crazy-overprotective parents, and they’re turning the kid into a nervous self-censoring wreck.”)

“What do you and Damian have up your sleeves?” she asked him, noticing that Jon’s sleeves were in a particularly sorry state.

Jon looked at the floor, and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“It’s a kind of special project,” he said.

“He wrote a letter for Father,” said Damian.

“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” said Jon, and he turned bright red.

He’s adorable, thought Selina.An adorable little gangly half-Kryptonian with very long eyelashes. Aloud, she said:

“A letter? I don’t know if I can let Bruce have that without further discussion, boys.If you want me to help you, you’re going to have to help me too.I think we should go downstairs and talk about it.”

**7**

Two hours later, an ever-so slightly tipsy Selina in stockinged feet sashayed up the stairs and into Bruce’s study.Her eye-catching shoes were stowed beneath the grand staircase for later retrieval.She knew that Alfred would instruct the staff to leave them there for her.

“What’s that in your hand?” asked Bruce, intrigued.

“A vodka popsicle, “ said Selina.She examined it more closely, and pronounced: “A Krypto-technology powered vodka popsicle.With a super-heated citrus-flavored core.”

_“What?”_

Alfred looked puzzled.

“Would you mean cryotechnology, Miss Selina?”

“Nope.I persuaded Jon Kent to make us a few hundred vodka pops.Outer shell produced by freeze breath, interior consisting of heat-visioned lemon or raspberry creme fill.Alfred, consider your dessert problem solved for Bruce’s fall fundraiser.Although we’ll have to restrict people to one pop each. They’re way too good. We could even auction them off.”

“You got the kid to use his powers? In Wayne Manor?”

“Aren’t you proud of me?” Selina thrust her cell-phone at Bruce.“He really is amazing.Just look at this video.”

Bruce leaned forward, fascinated, chin on one hand.

“Can I forward that to Clark?”

“No, you may not.In fact - “ Selina swiped sideways a couple of times - “even I know that these images should be deleted.Because you never know.”

She reached into the pocket of her skirt.

“Talking about Clark, I have something much more interesting for you to read.”

She handed him a very smudged, sealed white envelope.It said on it, in carefully hand-printed letters:

**F O R:**B r u c eW a y n e.

**8**

“Of course your father can have the interview,” said Bruce.He cast a sharp eye over Jon.“You did well to ask me.But don’t you also want an interview for your school newspaper?”

“What?” muttered Selina.She had only consumed three or four vodka pops and was already hearing things.Perhaps the Kryptonian freeze-breath had some unanticipated side effects.

Jon’s face lit up with pure joy.“Really?” he said.Then his face fell again.“But no, I can’t, Mr. Wayne. Damian would be too embarrassed.”

“Well,” said Bruce.“Maybe that’s alright, given that he’s been hiding a lethal weapon in the house.If he turns it in, and you do a school paper interview, I won’t ask any more questions about the Demon Star.”

“How did you know?” asked Damian.He was scowling.

“It’s not for nothing that your grandfather calls me the World’s Greatest Detective.Look at the tiny perforations on Jon’s sleeves.Only a diamond-blade Demon Star leaves those intricately-patterned tears.And don’t swear like that in Arabic under your breath.You know your mother doesn’t like it.”

“I hate your punishments,” said Damian furiously.“Grandfather used to make me lie down on nails, or eat a meal of sand.But you - you - “

“Child abuse and throwing stars are both illegal in the state of New Jersey,” said Alfred.His voice was utterly bland, but the corner of his mouth flickered. “One might say that the number of options available to your father is limited.”

“Thank you, Alfred.Damian, please give me the Demon Star.Jon, do you want to call your dad?”

And Selina sucked on what remained of her vodka popsicle and cheered inwardly.

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't have friends who are journalists, you may not know how tough it's become to be one.
> 
> My lame jokes about everyone at the Daily Planet becoming freelance and having to consider better-paid, more stable jobs in fields like public relations are not jokes. I don't know what it's like to be a journalist, but I do know that many of my friends have struggled enormously over the last few years as print circulation has plummeted and the world has chosen to get more of its news through social media and other alternative online sources. It's made me wonder what life is like for Clark and Lois these days. I think Clark is probably muddling on, patching together assignments around his more important heroic commitments, and Lois will probably take a deep breath ... and upgrade to a different kind of journalism. She'll have to become a 'face', a well-known news anchor. Or leave the field altogether. The world in which she was originally written no longer exists.


End file.
